


coping mechanism

by eerian_sadow



Series: A Long Term Arrangement [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whipping, bad bdsm, coping mechsnisms, hurt comfort bingo, hurt comfort bingo 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerian_sadow/pseuds/eerian_sadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl does what he can to help Sunstreaker work through his combat guilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coping mechanism

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 2013 round of hurt comfort bingo, filling my "combat" square.
> 
> fic deals with Sunstreaker's VERY BAD coping mechanism for dealing with his guilt over the lives he has to take as a soldier.

He counted them, as he beat them down or tore them apart. Fifteen mechs disabled, but not deactivated. Over a hundred drones deactivated. Ten mechs deactivated, never to walk the surface of Cybertron again.

Eleven. He crushed the Seeker's spark casing as Blaster's voice relayed the retreat orders. Eleven more deaths on his hands.

It was nothing to take those lives on the battlefield, to be the fearsome warrior he had been trained to be. Sometimes, he even reveled in the violence as it happened, enjoying the feeling of tearing apart Decepticons with his bare hands. But he sees their faces when the battle is over, and is nearly crushed by the guilt.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He did not clean himself off when they returned to base. He delivered his report to Ironhide and then made his way to his partner's room. Prowl would understand, likely without having to be told any details at all.

Once he was safely inside, Sunstreaker took out the datapad where he kept the names. He always made sure he knew their names, even if it meant reading them from empty spark casings.

Carefully, he inscribed the date and name of each Decepticon he had dectivated in this battle. He made certain each name was clear and readable, so that he would not be able to forget. Once all eleven names were inscribed, he put the pad back into his subspace compartment and moved to the cabinet where Prowl kept his whips.

The yellow mech stared at it for long moments before he opened the door, wishing he were doing so for any other reason. Prowl hated doing this to him, Sunstreaker knew.

He pulled out the high-output energon whip and closed the cabinet door. He held it in front of himself like an offering as he knelt down in the center of the room and waited. His partner would be back eventually, and waiting like this could be part of his pennance.

If any mech could truly do pennance for mass murder.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Sunstreaker." Prowl's voice was tired, and it made Sunstreaker hate himself a little bit more more. He needs this, but Prowl needs to rest.

"Please, Prowl."

"They were drones," the tactician replied.

"Not all of them. Drones don't have sparks." Sunstreaker extended the whip a bit further. "Please. I can't... I can't stop seeing their faces."

Prowl reached out and took the whip with a trembling hand. "How many?"

"Eleven." Only eleven, this time. After some battles, the number has been so high that Prowl has refused to give him all the lashes he deserves.

"Eleven." The exhaustion was even more clear in the black and white mech's voice. The battle had clearly been just as hard on him. "Very well. I need fuel first."

"Yes, sir." The yellow mech didn't know if Prowl was drawing out the torment or if he was simply too under fueled to give Sunstreaker the punishment he deserved, but it didn't matter. Prowl was in control of everything now, and if he decided that the frontliner didn't receive his twenty two lashes until morning, he wouldn't.

"You will join me."

"Yes, sir." Sunstreaker knew better than to argue. Prowl wouldn't give him anything if he disagreed with a basic order. In here, he was in control of everything--including how and when Sunstreaker would receive his lashes.

Prowl set the whip on the table before moving to the automated dispenser and drawing two rations. Sunstreaker stared at the device, needing and dreading the burn it would leave in his plating. He barely noticed when his partner pressed the fuel into his hands.

"Drink," the black and white mech ordered. "You will take the entire ration. And when you have finished, you will take another."

"A second ration will be wasteful, sir," he replied softly. "It will just leak onto the floor."

"It will not, tonight." That one sentence said that Prowl wasn't certain he would be able to give Sunstreaker the punishment he deserved, but that he would at least get enough to quiet his processor for recharge.

If necessary, Sunstreaker could negotiate for a second round after they woke. That had been done in the past. "Yes, sir."

"Drink your energon and we will begin."

The frontliner nodded and drank his energon quickly. It settled heavily in his fuel tank, feeling as dense as lead and as unproccessable. Prowl lingered over his fuel, giving his systems time to absorb some of it. When he was finished, he picked the whip up again.

"Move to the bar and fasten your arms into the restraints."

Even when he was doing pennance--or being punished, he wasn't eve sure which this was anymore--Sunstreaker liked the bar and its flexible shackles. They allowed him to just _let go_ of everything and simply swing with the force of Prowl's blows. He didn't have to stand or kneel or focus on an uncomfortable posture; he could just take his punishment and hope for a miracle that would prevent this need from coming up again.

His fingers were steady and sure as he fastened the cuffs into place. They were close enough together that he didn't have to struggle to close the buckles, though Prowl would have to let him out after they were done. He tugged sharply once both cuffs were latched, checking that he'd done it properly. When they didn't give, he turned and looked at the black and white mech.

"I'm ready, sir."

Prowl didn't reply. They both knew he was never ready to give Sunstreaker these whippings, no matter how they might play at other times. When the tactician activated the whip, the frontliner turned his head back toward the wall. The energon charge hummed through the weapon softly, promising a great deal of pain to the mech it was used on.

Sunstreaker hoped it was enough to burn some of his guilt away.

"Tell me their names," Prowl instructed. Then he stuck.

Sunstreaker howeled as the energon whip burned into his back. The first lash was always the worst. "Desperado."

A second lash. 

"Oil Slick!"

Prowl flicked the whip again, leaving a deep burn across the frontliner's lower back. 

"War Paint!"

A fourth strike, placed high between his shoulders.

The yellow mech cried out again at the unexpected placement. "Air Strike!"

A fifth strike, laid precisely across his right shoulder. 

"Cold Forge!"

Prowl lashed again, leaving a deep burn across his aft. 

Sunstreaker whimpered. He had been braced for the left shoulder and the surprise made the pain worse. "Ion!"

The seventh lash stuck across the first three on his back and the frontliner's knees gave out from the pain. His joints strained as he hung from the bar, adding a second kind of pain to his whipping.

"Blacklight!"

The next strike was another of the carefully precise flicks, finally blistering into his left shoulder.

"Gambler!"

The ninth lash struck low, burning agonizingly into his left thigh. Sunstreaker barely managed to choke out the next name.

"Flashfire!"

The tenth strike landed on his other thigh and Sunstreaker screamed. 

"Orbit!"

Prowl stopped for a moment, cooling fans running high with the stress of whipping the yellow mech. Sunstreaker hung heavily in his bonds, giving the black and white mech the space he needed. The last strike would come when his partner was ready.

Prowl struck without any warning, lashing the whip across Sunstreaker's hands. The yellow mech shrieked, shocked at how much it hurt. 

"Hydrogen!"

The whip deactivated and clattered to the floor. Prowl moved in front of him and reached up to unfasten the cuffs. He caught the frontliner as Sunstreaker slumped to the floor, heedless of the blistered and blackened paint on the yellow mech's back.

"You never wanted to know their names before," Sunstreaker whispered, resting against the black and white mech.

"I always knew they were living mechs before." 

The frontliner didn't move, content for the moment in the haze of pain that blurred the memories of the previous battle. His hands throbbed, and he marveled at how Prowl had known the _perfect_ punishment for what he had done today.

"We will have to explain this to Ratchet next cycle." The tactician lifted one of the damaged appendages and inspected it with a frown. "I can repair the other damage, but this is beyond my capabilities. I apologize."

"Don't." Sunstreaker looked up at his partner appreciatively. "It was exactly what I needed. I'll think of something to tell Ratchet."

" _We_ will think of something," Prowl repeated. "Where you go, I go, remember?"

"I remember."

"Good." The black and white mech shifted and pulled something out of his subspace. "Drink your energon. Your self repair will need it."

"Yes, sir." Sunstreaker turned his head, so that Prowl could tip the fuel into his mouth. Now it was time to take care of his partner's needs.

Quietly, the two buried their demons and prayed that this past battle would be the last.


End file.
